Nothing's Real But Love
by LukeAndLorelai Brucas Fan
Summary: They both needed to escape and running away with the circus always seemed to work out for the characters in Muggle movies... By the time she realised who he really was, it was too late. "How long have you hidden behind your magic?" "She hasn't looked at me that way in... She's never looked at me that way." Slight Night Circus crossover, AU. Enter Le Cirque des Reves...
1. Prologue

I started writing this June of last year. And it was going to be a one-shot. But then it was a million pages long and totally bizarre and I desperately needed help. That's where ICanSeeYourFace came in, she rescued me from the nuttiness and now, here we are. Thank you so much Pia! The story I've been trying to tell for a year is complete! Let's all celebrate by reading, shall we?

* * *

They stand in a snow covered clearing, not moving, silent. Close by voices can be heard as well as music that seems to have no source. But they take no notice.

It's as if nothing exists beyond their circle of trees, nothing matters but their conversation.

"I know this is a lie," she tells him, her hand outstretched as if to stroke his cheek, but not quite reaching him.

"What are you-?"

"Please. I just want us to be honest with one another."

"I don't know what you mean," is what he tells her as opposed to everything he wants to.

"They call me the Illusionist, but what about you? How long have you hidden behind your magic?"

He reaches for her then, but just like hers, his hand comes up short and he clutches air as he wrestles with what should be done and what he wants to do. What he's already been told he will do.

"If I tell you," he finally replies. "You won't… You'll run. You won't give me time to explain."

"I will." She vows. "I've been… less than truthful myself. I can't fault you for keeping things from me."

"Swear it. Promise me you won't leave here until you've heard all I have to tell you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I knew who you were," he continues taking a small step forward. "The first night, under the oak I knew you. And I knew exactly what you were doing. Please… Please remember that and the way I've treated you since you joined us."

Unable to respond verbally, she nods. Now, she expects he'll reveal his true face. Instead, he takes another step forward and places a hand on her cheek.

In the breath before their lips touch, the instant before he whispers, "I love you," she is distantly aware that this is the first time they have ever touched. That the name he uses is not the one people know her as now, and that it's been close to a year since she heard it last. Then he closes the gap.

Their lips meet and it's soft and delicious and for the first time in her entire life she stops thinking altogether. When he pulls away, she can feel the reluctance. She opens her eyes and he is gone.

A face she would know anywhere in the world has disappeared only to be replaced by one she would recognise just as easily.

"Wait." He implores, holding her loosely by the elbows so as not to frighten her, but not willing to let go completely just yet. "Please. I can explain."

Resisting the urge to run, to shrug off his hands, she recalls her earlier oath and relaxes her tensed muscles, shifting slightly so she has a better footing and nods.

"Ok."

* * *

Reviews are love people


	2. Chapter 1

He waited a week but no one came for him. There were more pressing matters, he knew; so many bodies to bury and prison cells to lock up tight.

They wouldn't be long.

When he was still free on the sixteenth - two whole weeks after everything had happened - he considered turning himself in and giving the Auror's one less thing they would have to do, one less offender for them to have to track down.

However, as he readied himself to leave home for the last time the next morning, he changed his mind. "They've had fifteen days." He rationalised. "If they really wanted us they would have been here by now."

And with that knowledge he altered his plans.

Packing the essentials into a bag, he took one last look around his room before slipping out into the hall and soundlessly making his way to the front door.

Standing on the top step outside the Manor, he said goodbye to the only way of life he had ever known and started down the street, leaving Draco Malfoy behind for good.

After hours of walking he found himself sitting in a bar called the Alchemist in Muggle London, nursing a pint of beer and wondering if there were any spells he could tweak to soothe aching yet otherwise uninjured limbs.

If he'd had any idea where he was headed he would have Apparated, but that was a dangerous method of transportation without a specific destination in mind.

It was then that a nearby conversation caught his attention.

". . . Appeared out of nowhere, I swear!" One man insisted. "No warning, nothing. Suddenly the whole park's full o' tents!"

"Have another one mate. Then you can tell me about the dragons again. Seen any of them lately?" His friend replied, chuckling, but the first man refused to let his friend ignore his claim.

"How can you say I'm making this up? They're right there, all of them, pitched right across the street from my flat!"

"'Course they are. Now if you see any of those little goblin-creatures while I'm in the loo, you make sure an buy 'em a drink, oright? I'm keen to meet one of those fellows."

As the second man staggered off to the restroom, his drinking companion shook his head, grumbling into his drink.

"Excuse me?" Draco found that he was standing beside the first man to have spoken, leaning in closer to address him. "Could you tell me where those tents were?"

"Great! Now people I don't even know are makin' fun o' me. Look, I'll admit, it probably wasn't a dragon, ok? Happy?"

"No. I just wondered about the tents. In the park? What did you say they were for again?"

"Some kind o' circus looks like. Why d'you wanna know?"

"Just curious, and where did you say this was?"

With the necessary information, the young fugitive paid his bill and left the bar, heading west in search of Wandsworth Common.

* * *

The first thing he had done when he found the sea of black and white striped tents spread throughout the public garden was bring the face of the man he had spoken to in the pub to the front of his mind.

Wand in hand and fervently hoping he wasn't about to blow his own head off, he'd aimed for his face and spoke two words. "Mutare apparentiam."

For a moment, it felt as if someone had poured candle wax on to his head and it had hardened into a shell but that also meant that, thankfully he still had a head. So, conjuring a mirror, Draco glanced into the reflective glass to see how he had done at making up his first spell.

The man blinking back at him looked nothing like he had a moment earlier. His hair was jet black; his eyes had turned from cold steel to a warm brown and he had a light peppering of freckles marring his once pale clear skin. He was also shorter than he had been originally and slightly stockier.

Draco was gone. His disguise was perfect.

After Vanishing the mirror, he'd emerged from a cluster of trees, with his new face, and made his way towards the attractions across the street. In no time at all, he had found himself before the fortune teller.

"Welcome," she'd greeted him warmly as he shifted in his seat opposite her in the muted light of her small space. "I've been expecting you." The room had a similar feel to his paternal grandmother's drawing room. While he'd been a little hesitant about coming in, he was put at ease with the faint smell of her perfume in the air.

"You have?"

Divination had never been his strong suite. He'd found the whole subject and especially the professor very woolly. But he also knew that there had to be some true Seers out there. Whether this one was or not still remained to be seen, it was possible that that was her standard was of receiving visitors.

"Your disguise is clever; no one will know the truth for quite some time. But she will sense it."

Until her last remark, he'd been hopeful. Of course, she could see through it; it was her job to know such things. But who was the other woman she spoke of? Would she expose him? Would he be forced to silence her?

Hexing people, cursing them to keep quiet or to get information from them were aspects of the life he hoped to leave behind. He didn't want to resort to that sort of thing. Knowing that she probably wouldn't say, he still had to ask, just to be sure.

"Who is she?"

"You'll choose when to show her of course, but you will show her," was the only reply he received.

"Who?"

"It won't happen for some time. But should you choose to join us, in time she will find us too."

"Who is she? When?"

"You'll know. When you see her, you will know. Mister Clarke awaits you."

That had sounded like a dismissal, but he hadn't even had a chance to ask anything, not really and the information she had given wasn't any help at all.

However, it had been clear he wouldn't get any more from her so he'd fished out some of the Muggle money he had on him and placed it on the table before wandering off to find Mister Clarke.

Now he had a job.

For the first time in his entire life, he was in a position to make his own money; in a far more honest way than the rest of his family ever had he was sure.

Bailey Clarke had been quick to warn him that there wasn't a great deal of money in their line of work and that the work would be hard – running errands for the performers, cleaning up after the animals, making sure everyone had what they needed – but that wasn't a concern.

Considering the position his family would no doubt be in when the authorities caught up with them following the end of the war, a job fit for a house-elf was probably the best he could hope for.

So he leapt for it.

It would take a lot of effort to go from a purely magical upbringing to living among Muggles, but Draco – who had introduced himself to his new employer as Castor Burrows – was determined.

He wasn't going to return to the manor, he wasn't going to allow himself to be carted off to prison; he was going to make up for his past, even if he had to do that from within a traveling Muggle circus.

* * *

For eighteen months, he worked his way through a variety of positions within the company all the while doing his best to be a good man, unlike the child he'd always been up until that point.

When Bailey Clarke called him to his train car as they made their way through a few of the Midwestern American states, Castor worried that he'd slipped up. Perhaps he'd been careless and someone had seen him performing magic to speed up a few of his more tedious tasks.

The look on the older man's face as they sat across from one another wasn't one of a confused or frightened Muggle though. It was of someone who knew things, and who had long ago stopped being shocked by just about anything.

"Ah, Castor, good, take a seat,"

"Is there a problem, sir?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and unable to shake the thought that this man shared a few similarities with his former headmaster.

"No, no problems at all. I just had a few questions to ask, perhaps a proposition for you."

"Yes?"

"You like it here, with us, don't you?"

"I love it here."

"You enjoy your work, get along with the others?"

"Very much so,"

"And you intend to stay, for quite some time, I hope."

"For as long as you'll have me, yes."

"I wonder, have you noticed any… irregularities, while you've been with us?"

"Irregularities, sir?"

"Yes, ah, I'm certain you would have seen… just think a moment. I'm sure you know what I'm referring to."

Again, Castor felt certain this man was a lot like Albus Dumbledore, in more ways than just his demeanour. He _knew_ things.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" he whispered after a moment, leaning forward in his seat.

"Unfortunately not, but, this circus does exist on the magic of some very talented people. You, however, you are, aren't you? I'd wager that it was no accident that you came to us when you did."

"I… I needed to get away. But I swear to you, I'm not the same person I was when I left my life behind. This… this life that I've been allowed to have, this is who I was truly meant to be. I'm sure of that."

"Yes, yes, so am I. Which brings me to my next question; have you ever given any thought to management?"

Castor was floored.

Bailey Clarke had always seemed aware of far more than a normal person should be. If some of the longer standing members of Le Cirque were to be believed, he, along with his wife Poppet, were over one hundred years old. Neither of them looked a day past their thirtieth birthdays, however. With his disclosure that he knew of magic, it all made a lot more sense.

Castor had been unsure if he should believe the legend about Bailey's age, but something in the older man's eyes had him ready to swear it was true.

Now it appeared as if he was offering his circus, his life and everything he had worked towards over to a nineteen year old he barely knew.

"I would… I don't think I understand sir. Do you mean that you're looking for someone to assist you?"

"For the moment, yes, but given time I intend to hand over the night to night running of the circus. I would of course, remain with that person as a sort of, advisor, if you will, for as long as they require. But I mean this as a way to step down.

"I'm an old man, Castor, older, than probably anyone you've ever met, despite appearances, and I'm tired. I love this circus dearly. I always have, ever since I was a young boy. But I'm in need of rest. And I believe that you would care for our colleagues, our animals, our entire way of life, just the way that they all need."

"I couldn't possibly… I mean, I'm only-"

Bailey seemed to know what was about to come out of the young man's mouth because he interrupted him at that precise moment. "Have I ever told you how old I was when I took responsibility for all of this?" he asked, making a sweeping gesture to indicate all that was around them.

Castor imagined he was seeing the same thing that Bailey was – the many different rooms that made up the labyrinth, the beauty of the equestrian show, the potions and the pool of tears.

"No."

"I was just eleven years old. I was asked if I could do it, and there were only a few minutes time in which to decide. But I knew in my heart that I could. Now I am asking you, could you care for my home the way that it needs? The way that it deserves?"

Castor sat, contemplating the last few minutes of conversation. Baily made no move to hurry him, but instead, sat quietly, pretending to inspect his fingernails. He gave the impression that there was no need to rush and they had all the time in the world.

It was true that he loved his new home. It gave him a freedom he'd never dreamed of as a boy. A freedom he'd never known he could or should dream of. And while they travelled to far off places, they often returned to those he knew.

In his younger years, his parents had often taken him on trips all throughout Great Britain and over Europe. Now with the Circus he could return to those places and see how they measured up to his memories.

There had even been a stop not far from Hogsmeade and when he took leave for the day to the Wizarding village, he'd caught sight of a few of his former classmates as well as a gaggle of underclassmen.

Glancing up at the man who was probably close to the age that Dumbledore had been before his death, Castor knew that he'd never actually had a decision to make.

The moment he stepped in to the fortune teller's tent just over a year and a half ago, his fate had been sealed.

"It would be a great honour." He replied to the man sitting across from him. Bailey smiled.

"Wonderful."

* * *

There was so much that Castor needed to learn in order to assume control, but Bailey was patient explaining everything with great care. When the night arrived, the young protégé felt sure a terrible mistake had been made. But Isobel was close by as she'd always been since he first arrived and she assured him this was the right thing to do.

And so he became proprietor of Le Cirque des R_ê_ves.

More than ever, he relied upon the advice of his fortune teller, who informed him that before the year was out, the woman who knew him from his previous life would have found them.

It wasn't long at all, after that announcement, before everything shifted once again.


	3. Chapter 2

AN: Only another two chapters after this one. I hope everyone's enjoying it so far. What's been your favourite part?

* * *

The school didn't feel right when they were finally permitted to return. Harry and Ron were there. Neville, Ginny and Luna too along, with many others who contributed to the idea of it being Home.

But at the same time, far too many of them were gone and would never return.

The blood had been cleaned away, the walls and ceilings rebuilt. The smoke had cleared and the screams that had echoed off the stone walls were no more than a memory.

Every now and then, Peeves still screeched through the halls, rhapsodising Harry's defeat over Voldemort but there were subtle differences about even him that could only be attributed to his relationship with the late, great Fred Weasley.

And it wasn't just the dead who hadn't returned. A number of students who had survived the final battle, and who had even been present in the days afterwards to lend a hand, failed to appear at Kings Cross on September first.

Among those missing was Dennis Creevey – presumably unable to return to the place where his brother died. Niall Callaghan, a sixth year Hufflepuff who had witnessed the murder of not only his girlfriend Neryssa Pratt, but also his favourite professor, was also absent. It was said he had cut ties with everyone in order to travel the world, ridding it of any evils he could defeat, in an effort to ease his grief.

Then there was Draco Malfoy.

Rumours ran rife the first few weeks of term and many reasons were supplied to explain away his absence. The favourite being that he'd been chucked into the darkest, dankest cell at Azkaban within days of the wars end.

Someone even claimed they saw his body among the dead the night of Voldemort's end.

There was never any confirmation or denial when it came any rumour that concerned him though. Even his closest friends, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson couldn't shed any light on the matter. Not that too many people tried to pry information out of them.

When the school reopened and students returned to the Great Hall, Slytherin was severely outnumbered by the other three houses. The once boisterous group had become the quietest. The older students most likely thinking the less noise they made and attention they drew to themselves, the more likely they could avoid any punishment or ridicule from other students.

Despite all he had said or done during the six years of their acquaintance Hermione found herself hoping the number one rumour was false. She knew he wasn't dead, at least he hadn't died that night, but who knew when or if she would ever learn where he'd ended up?

For all the evil he had done and possessed, he had at the heart of it, been little more than a scared young boy, trying to keep his family together and safe.

_He joined our side in the final battle,_ she thought to herself. _Fighting with us against the monster who had taken up residence in his family home; that had to count for something._

As she floated through the months of lessons, somehow absorbing the information necessary to pass her exams without paying the slightest bit of attention, Hermione's mind wandered increasingly towards the absent Slytherin boy who, on at least two occasions, had saved her life, even if he continued to hate her mere existence.

When graduation rolled around and it was finally time to say goodbye to the school that had shaped the woman she had become, Hermione found she wasn't as sad to leave as she had anticipated she would be in earlier years.

It would be a relief she realised, not to have to pass the places where so many horrible events had taken place. Even so, she had been apprehensive to step out in to the world.

With Voldemort dead, the one thing she had committed her life to since the age of eleven was over. Fighting beside her best friends for the freedom of the wizarding world was no longer necessary.

What was she to do but throw herself, wholeheartedly into her quest of finding a bona fide Seer to tell her which path to take next?

* * *

Returning to Hogwarts to do over her final year made sense. Returning her parent's memories and consenting to their living a dual citizenship in both homes they loved made sense.

Taking a card from a strange woman in a pub that proclaimed the most accurate Seer in the United Kingdom wasn't too bizarre. Especially considering she had spent the better part of the year since completing her studies searching for a true clairvoyant to tell her which direction she was supposed to take next.

She had openly opposed the idea of Divination and all its associated practices while in school. But since fighting in a war in which she saw too many friends die, and discovering that she had no idea what she was supposed to do with herself from that point on, she had taken to visiting all the best reputed mediums in the greater London area.

What didn't make sense was that she had studied the card for hours. She had stood on the corner of Cicada and Trinity two nights in a row. Observing the black and white tents, the strange clock at the entrance and the people, many of whom wore a red scarf with their monochromatic outfits, she had fully contemplated throwing everything away and following this eclectic group wherever they were headed before even speaking with one of them.

Just as she had expected, though desperately hoped would not be the case, the fortune teller - who sat in a small room that smelled just like the store room of Flourish and Blotts where she had helped out a little in the previous months to fill her time - was little more help than the twenty-seven who had come before her.

Instead, she had offered just as vague answers to Hermione's questions and continuously referenced a 'him'.

Having no interest in finding a man, but rather a new path for her dishevelled life, Hermione tossed a handful of money at the woman and stalked back to the opening of the tent in frustration puzzled further by the woman's parting words of,

"The birds will intrigue them. He'll like that,"

She had paused, hoping the woman would share some useful final words, but of course, that was too much to ask. When she turned around, she found she was alone in the tent, and couldn't help wondering if she really had heard a 'pop' or if it was just her imagination.

Almost blind to the things around her, Hermione walked until she reached the base of a tall oak. With barely a thought in her mind, she dropped into a seated position in front of the tree and leaned back into the trunk that seemed to curve around her.

Staring up into the branches, she watched the leaves sway in the moonlight for a moment before and idea struck her.

With a whisper aimed at the heavens, every leaf fell from the branches above her head and began a slow decent to the ground. Before even one of them could land, however, she offered another undertone and the air suddenly filled with the songs of hundreds of black birds.

Feeling someone watching her, Hermione looked away from her creation and sought out the eyes she knew were on her. A few yards away stood a man who seemed to have little interest in the birds.

He was the only person in the gardens not focused on the feathered creatures, seeming to glance at them for only a moment. He began to make his way towards her, weaving around tents and gaping spectators too stunned to move. Despite the obstacles between them, it seemed as if his eyes remained on her the entire time.

Uttering a third incantation brought all of the birds back to the branches before they fell silent and returned to their original form of leaves.

Waiting patiently she watched him as he came towards her, neither of them breaking eye contact. When he reached her side, he studied her quite seriously for a moment before speaking. "I wonder if we might have a word."

"Of course," She replied standing and following him to a nearby structure, which presumably housed his office.

She was sure that he was the one. She felt certain he was the person the clairvoyant had been urging her towards, after seeing him more interested in her than the birds.

* * *

Officially, she was known as the Illusionist. Unofficially she went by the name Perdita.

Officially, she kept to herself, showing no desire to make friends, other than occasionally trying to engage the fortune teller in conversation, hoping for a little more insight into her future. Unofficially she poured over notebooks filled with as many Transfiguration spells and Charms incantations as she could remember, adding to them all the time when something else returned to her.

Officially, her relationship with the proprietor, her new employer, was one of aloof professionalism. Unofficially she felt him watching her often. Everywhere she went there he was, his eyes burning in to her skin.

It didn't make a lot of sense. Aside from their first conversation in which he offered her a job, disclosing to her that his fortune teller had told him their paths would cross at a specific time, they'd had almost no contact.

For the first few nights, he oversaw her performances, but after that, she rarely saw him at all. There were occasions that she found him watching as she walked about the grounds of whatever Common they happened to be In, or moving from one carriage of their train to another.

But after her first month with the company he seemed to make it a point to not be anywhere near her if at all possible.

After that first month, she found herself unable to think on it too often though, as she noticed another man always in attendance at her shows, always taking the same seat, always watching with the same intensity.

She first noticed him in Paris, where he observed her for a week as she turned scarves into snakes, goblets into birds, made hats simply Vanish and lights appear where there were no lights before.

When in Malta she found him again, and once more in Mongolia, she thought nothing of it. But, when he was still showing up after two months and over a dozen countries, she began to become concerned.

Resolving to speak with him in Vaasa she made her way towards his seat where he remained sitting even as the tent emptied after her third and final show of the night - all of which he had watched from the same seat he always did - but just before she reached him, he disappeared.

Rationalising to herself that she must have just blinked as someone passed between them, giving him a moment to leave, she shook him and his constant presence from her mind.

But when it happened again the next night she knew she needed to let someone else know.

"I wondered if you could oversee my next performance," she proposed to Mr Burrows, over a pot of China Jasmine.

They would be in the US by morning, a fact that made it even more puzzling that this man had managed to keep up over the previous weeks. There was no set schedule and travel time didn't seem to factor in at all; the circus could be in Algeria one night and the Australian outback the next, yet he almost always was still able to find them.

"I've been thinking of making a few alterations and I'd like your take on them."

"Of course, I'll be right up the front," he agreed.

"Perfect," she replied, thinking that if anyone could help her get to the bottom of this issue with the vanishing man it would be the manager.

* * *

As promised, Mister Burrows sat in the front row when she stepped to the middle of the stage. Disillusioned, she took in each of the faces that surrounded her and it quickly became obvious that the man who had been to see her almost every night since her first was not in attendance.

With conflicting emotions and questions running through her mind, she went about the new routine she had come up with. All the while wondering why he wasn't there.

Was he hurt? Had he finally tired of looking at her? Would he return tomorrow night? He had missed a few shows before, but somehow it felt more important that he was missing this one. What did it mean?

Then she stopped wondering, because she felt it. The gaze.

It came from somewhere new, so it hadn't occurred to her at first that it was in fact the same but as she looked up to gauge the reaction of her employer she knew. The disappearing man who had followed from Paris and all over the world was sitting in front of her at that moment.

His eyes burned with the same intensity she had felt for months from the stranger who now appeared to be gone, replaced by this man she had grown to trust at least on a basic level.

Faltering slightly, her concentration slipped and the small bluebell fire surrounding her feet flared, appearing to engulf her legs. Many people throughout the tent screamed and shifted backwards away from her and the danger they believed to be surrounding her.

Unable to finish out the performance she whispered the counter-charm to extinguish the flames and envisioned her train car. She was there in a moment, leaving her audience stunned.


	4. Chapter 3

Draco had wanted to avoid London the second time around. He wasn't yet ready to return, not so soon. But while it wasn't written anywhere and no one could ever be sure where they would show up next, the schedule was set and there was no changing course once they began.

And so _Le Cirque des Rêves_, rolled back in to London almost two years after they had left and for two nights he waited anxiously.

He had only ever disclosed his identity to one person, and even then, he'd only had to fill in a few blanks because Isobel could see most of it for herself. But as they had moved closer and closer to the London dates he'd been filled with a terror that only intensified as the nights wore on.

Now was their third night, they would leave in the morning. It had to happen tonight if it would happen at all. She was on her way. Despite Isobel's assurances that whoever she was posed no threat to his life among the revéurs, Draco was unsure of how to proceed.

So he adopted some of the magic he'd learned outside of school and Disillusioned himself, in order to watch but not be seen. Until such time that he found someone he recognised, and then would make his decision.

When Hermione Granger made her way across Wandsworth Common, taking the same route to seek out Isobel that he had, he lost control of his spell. Out of fear that she would recognise him he almost Apparated away before remembering that he looked nothing like the boy she had gone to school with.

Trusting in that knowledge and curious to see how Isobel's prophecy would play out, he made his decision to approach her.

In the many times they had discussed this night's approach, she had never told him explicitly what would occur, how it was that this woman, no longer a mystery, would affect his life.

Even if every person there that night had been privy to the information he knew, none of them would have been more surprised than he by what happened next.

Draco Malfoy asked Hermione Granger to join his magical circus, to travel the world with him, entertaining people with illusions that it was entirely probable that he alone knew the mechanics of.

And she said yes.

While his mind was racing, outwardly, he looked the picture of serenity as he arranged things for her. He desperately wanted to ask how she could just pick up and leave, what Weasley and Potter would think. Or if she knew whether or not his parents had been punished harshly.

But that would mean revealing his true identity and he couldn't do that.

So instead he asked nothing, not trusting himself to even attempt to phrase nonchalant questions. And by the time they rolled out of town the next day, she was settled in a train car, not too far from his.

* * *

He watched her every chance he got, aware that sometimes he crossed the line from casual observer to obsessive. He couldn't help it. Aside from a one-night stop near Hogsmeade this was the first time he'd been faced with anything or anyone from his former life and he was desperate to learn about what had been happening there, even if he couldn't ask.

As much as he could, he made sure not to be alone with her, unsure he could trust himself to keep from blurting out the constant stream of questions running through his mind. Keeping his distance, he decided, was the best course of action in order to get himself under control.

But that mission proved near impossible, he found. Away from the constraints of their former society and the prejudices about blood purity, separated from his parents and their bigoted ideas, he was for the first time able to think for himself.

And what he thought was that she was in fact an immensely talented witch and he wanted more than anything to remain in her company. Even if it meant adopting more disguises.

So that was exactly what he did.

Aware that it would be odd for one man to follow the company all around the world, just to watch one performer, he began experimenting with new faces.

He kept to the same seat though, because it provided the best view within her space. With his ever changing appearance he felt confident that he wouldn't be drawing too much attention.

That was, until she asked him to observe her.

* * *

Letting loose with a string of Muggle curses he'd picked up over the past two years, Draco, still in the form of Castor, paced throughout his private car.

"How could I be so stupid?" he growled. "Bloody oaf!"

She'd looked half terrorised. When she noticed the way he was looking at her, she looked… _she looked as if she'd just seen Voldemort again, as if she was back in the school with people dying all around her as a battle raged on. As if she was living in a horrid nightmare._

If he'd been in one of his disguises it wouldn't have been nearly as bad. He'd seen other men – some women too - entranced by what she could do over the last few months when he was able to tear his eyes away from her. But to go in there as someone she knew, someone she presumably trusted, and to look at her that way…

He had a lot of explaining to do.

The only question was when? After his stupidity, not being able to keep the hunger from his eyes watching her, he wasn't about to go and hound her in her own car, hurling excuses at her.

He would have to be patient. He would have to wait for her to come to him. And he would have to come up with something very convincing to tell her.

Expelling another litany of foul words – both Muggle and a few choice ones from his former life – he threw himself into the chair behind his desk and picked up the closest book, hoping to distract himself with something, anything at all.

* * *

No one had ever looked at her the way that man from Paris did. The way that Castor Burrows did. She'd never known a man could look at her like that. The closest she'd come was Ron, back in the days after the war when everyone's grief was confused and emotions had run rampant.

They had been lost as to what to do with themselves when everything was over. After a year of hunting Horcruxes, and the six previous ones spent trying to avoid dying at the hands of Voldemort, to finally have him defeated was liberating.

But there was also the issue of loved ones being lost, funerals to prepare for, a school to be rebuilt, and of course a child who needed someone to raise him.

Being Teddy's godfather, Harry naturally wanted to step forward with Ginny right by his side. But Tonks' parents had convinced him to let them take the boy while he finished school. The Weasley family had offered any assistance they could, save for George who couldn't be coaxed out of his room for weeks. Even when they did get him out, sitting at the dinner table with the rest of the family he didn't say a word.

It was then, in those weeks that she'd felt the powerful scrutiny of her best friend. The one she hadn't kissed since the night his brother was taken from them.

And it was in those days that followed that she resumed kissing him, both of them under the misguided idea that it would actually heal the hurt.

When they returned to school three months later they no longer shared such closeness. They barely shared anything at all, save for the nightmares, and a best friend who had saved them all.

Standing alone in her train car, clutching her throat, Hermione remembered it all; the smouldering encounters at the Burrow that slowly fizzled to nothingness and the distance they tried to put between themselves when it was all over.

In her mind, she couldn't help comparing the looks on the faces of those three men now – Ron, Castor and the mysterious stranger who she was certain was also the man who paid her wages.

For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder if all three were one in the same. If Ron, who grew up at the Burrow and who was descendant from a family who looked to the stars to name their children, had hidden himself away in a magical circus adopting a false name in order to keep tabs on her.

But she quickly dismissed the idea, rationalising that if it were indeed Ron she would have known the moment she first felt his gaze. Confident that he had stayed true to his intended path of joining Harry at the Ministry, Hermione shook away the idea that Ron had been with her for months without her knowledge and began to prepare for bed.

Dealing with this situation would have to wait until she'd gotten some rest.

* * *

"Did you know this would happen?" he demanded as Isobel set about making a pot of tea the next night. He'd kept to himself in his rooms for the entire day, only now venturing out to seek answers while revéurs swarmed about and he could go relatively unnoticed. "Couldn't you have warned me that I would… You should have told me that-"

"I couldn't interfere Castor."

"Not interfere no, but a warning. That's all. Just a warning so I could have… I don't know, controlled things."

"That would have changed the outcome, and even the slightest change would have altered everything. You know I can't do that."

"No, I know, but you didn't see the way that she… She's terrified. She hasn't looked at me that way in… She's never looked at me that way before," he realised. "In school the looks she aimed at me were filled with loathing and contempt, but never that. I was a monster back then, but she's never actually been scared of me. Until now."

"I saw. I see more than you know. And things are just as they need to be. All will be well, don't worry."

"How can I not worry?"

"Because I'm telling you not to. Trust me, all hope is not lost. You still have a chance to tell her-"

"I need to check on… I have things I need to do."

"Avoid it all you like, but that won't change anything. The moment still approaches."

She Apparated from the tent to, he presumed, her car, to await his departure. She enjoyed doing that at the end of some readings, said it provided an extra air of mystery. Now he wished he'd never taught her.

Ever since Hermione had joined them, Isobel had hinted at this 'moment' but she refused to elaborate and it was beginning to grate on his last nerve.

A part of him wanted it over with now, just to have it done. But another was uncertain. If things could possibly get worse, they probably would whenever this event took place and that was something he definitely didn't want.

Leaving the tent in much the same way he'd entered, Castor Burrows made his way through winding paths towards another, still under construction.

* * *

_Peek through the window to your soul's mate._

Perdita hovered at the entrance of the newest tent for a moment, unsure if she wanted to go in or not. The sign outside claimed to be able to show you your soul mate.

She was frightened of what she would see when she stepped inside. But equally curious and hopeful of what could be waiting for her. With numerous conversations repeating in her mind, she reached out, pulling open the tent's entrance and slipped inside, fighting the insecurity that took her over.

When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found herself standing in front of a simple window. Stepping closer to the panes of glass she saw a circle of snow covered trees, a blanket of white over everything and two people wrapped in a tight embrace.

The figures were somewhat obscured, so she took another step forward to see them better. And they disappeared.

With her nose practically pressed against the glass that was cold to the touch, as if there really was snow on the other side, Perdita searched in vain for the couple who had been there a moment before. She was caught off guard when a pair of eyes appeared on the opposite side of the window, looking as if the other person had their face pressed against it as well.

Jumping backward, eyes narrowing, she stared intently through to the other side, but again only saw the blurry couple in the snow.

With a frown of concentration, she once again moved in, slower, carefully, hoping not to disturb the image again. Again, all she could see when she moved in was the eyes peering back at her from the other side.

But as far as she could see, there was no other side.

A detailed inspection around the edge of the window frame showed that it backed straight on to the tent that surrounded it.

Forcing herself to stand in front of the window close enough to see the mysterious eyes she recalled what the sign outside had said _window to the soul…_

"The answer has to be here somewhere," she muttered. "In the eyes…" They seemed to be searching hers just as much as she was them. "Just think," she told herself. "It's here, it has to be."

Inhaling deeply before expelling the air, she stared straight ahead, confident she would be able to solve this riddle.

The colour was unique, _I've never seen eyes this colour before,_ they were bluish, but not quite. Lighter. More like…

"Silver."

At the first glance, they looked menacing. A little dangerous. But with every second that she stood, hoping for the owner to be revealed, they began to soften. And she found that she liked the way she was being looked at.

"But I don't understand," she muttered. "This is supposed to show…"

_Peek through the window to your soul's mate._

"The eyes…" she realised. "The eyes are the window to the soul. The window shows their eyes only."

Satisfied that she had deciphered the mystery she set about studying them again, hoping for a spark of recognition. But the longer she looked, the more frustrated she became. Never before had she seen anyone with eyes like these.

"It's hopeless!" She pronounced, stepping back. Once more, the couple in the snowy clearing appeared and she shook her head.

Assuming that woman was supposed to be her, not that she could even be sure of that, the man could be just about anyone. It was impossible to tell.

She left the Window to the Soul that night, frustrated and confused.

What little hope she had allowed herself to have had been dashed.

* * *

He knew she was growing impatient. That she was waiting for answers and he should give them to her. But each time he thought he was ready he found himself unable, and instead, continued to avoid her.

Isobel continued to warn him that he couldn't stop the events that were on their way and so he took to avoiding her as well. For the first time since assuming control of Le Cirque des Reves, Castor Burrows kept himself holed up in his rooms only admitting select visitors.

The Window had been partly Isobel's idea, and she'd helped him with finishing touches, but now he wished he'd never put it all together.

What he saw when he looked into it seemed a fantastic impossibility.

_It has to be faulty,_ he told himself, _too much like the Mirror of Erised and not enough of a prophetic tool. I must have gone wrong somewhere._ Refusing to believe in it fully, he shut himself away, and even stopped looking out the window.

His fireplace disguised the drop in temperature and so he didn't know to look out at the night, and he missed the first flakes as they fell.

* * *

A soon as she stepped off the train, pulling her coat tighter around her to combat the chill in the air, she recognised where they were. She'd never been to St. Petersberg before, but she'd seen herself there once before.

In the snow.

And all around her lay a fresh blanket of snow.

_That means…_ looking around, searching the faces of the people who were milling around, Perdita the Illusionist wondered if he was there at that moment, or if he was still on his way.

They wouldn't be leaving for two days. That meant he still had time to show up, but she found herself hoping he'd arrived there the same way and the same time she had, though she refused to admit to those feelings.

_"I could have gone to the wishing tree and made it happen by now," she had told Isobel late one night over brandy in the fortune teller's quarters._

_"Why haven't you?"_

_"Because I believe that these things have to happen in their own time. You can't rush certain events." Isobel nodded. "Which is also why I've not asked you to tell me who he is, I feel certain you know, but you can't say, can you?"_

_"It won't be long now," Isobel had replied._

_"I had a feeling you'd say something like that."_

She was beginning to worry though. Days ago they had been in Melbourne, and while temperatures there weren't as high as other Australian climates, there had been no chance of snow.

As much as she wanted to find the owner of the eyes in The Window, she also wished she'd never gone in to see it, and that she could bring herself to speak with her employer about the way he watched her.

He had all but disappeared. People still spoke of him in a way that suggested he was still with them, but she hadn't seen hide or hair of him in weeks and that was just another thing for her to worry over.

Her boots sinking into the snow, she vowed that she wouldn't leave Russia without answers and that she would discover the identity of the man on the other side of The Window.


	5. Epilogue

This is it! It all comes together. I hope everyone's been enjoying the story so far. Thanks for reading.

* * *

When he flinches she realises she probably looks horrified and quickly works to rearrange her face.

Both of them finished telling the tales that entwined in places and ended with their arrival the morning before, they fell silent and with thousands of thoughts racing through her mind she stares, taking him in, unable to voice any now, her throat hoarse from the hour they had stood there, explaining everything in the biting cold.

Draco Malfoy is taller than she remembers. His hair looks lighter, but that's most likely because for months leading up to this night it had been jet black. His eyes are nothing like she remembers them to be – they're the same colour and shape, but there is no longer any malice in them. They're much softer, kinder.

Loving.

"I love you," he repeats after a few moments of silence. "And I thought… the only reason I agreed to this, to show you the truth… I had hoped that maybe you love me too."

Chewing her bottom lip as she continues to stare, stunned, she wonders how it would sound if she were to repeat his words, how his name would taste on her tongue.

Squeezing her eyes shut for just a moment of solitude she thinks over the year she unknowingly spent in his company and how her feelings towards him had changed. His hands are still on her – in all the time they stood there, explaining themselves neither of them had moved and she had a fleeting thought that they may be frozen there.

When she opens her eyes, she finds him still watching her, waiting, desperation in his eyes like none she's ever seen before. His touch comforts her, completely at odds with what she expected it would do the last time she saw him in this form.

And then she's reaching for him in her own need, kissing him, savouring the taste of him and the feel of his hands caressing her face.

"How is this even possible?" she wonders aloud, whispering as she leans her forehead against his. "It shouldn't be… Oh but I love you too. Draco I do. I love you."

He doesn't say another word, just presses his lips to hers again, thanking the stars and the moon, Merlin, Dumbledore and anyone else who could have possibly have had a hand in allowing him this, for forgiving his sins and seeing fit to give him this glorious chance at happiness.

* * *

Pretty corney ending. Sorry about that, I just couldn't help myself :)


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